


Revelations

by uniquepov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fashion & Couture, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-05 06:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/uniquepov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione sets out to write an exposé, but she learns some surprising things along the way.</p><p><a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/uniquepov/pic/00022f5z/"><img/></a><br/>
Beautiful banner by <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_ningloreth"><a href="http://ningloreth.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://ningloreth.livejournal.com/"><b>ningloreth</b></a></span>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 [](http://dramione-duet.livejournal.com/profile)[**dramione_duet**](http://dramione-duet.livejournal.com/) , as a pinchhit - my recipient was [](http://vegetasbubble.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegetasbubble**](http://vegetasbubble.livejournal.com/). As research for this fic, I watched hours of videos from the catwalks of London Fashion Week. I love fandom.
> 
>  **Author’s Note(s):** To [](http://vegetasbubble.livejournal.com/profile)[**vegetasbubble**](http://vegetasbubble.livejournal.com/) : I hope you enjoyed this! I tried to work in as many of your kinks and prompts as I could. I got to research haute couture and London Fashion Week for this fic, which … hi. I love fandom <3\. The fashion show takes place on the Autumnal Equinox, which also happens to have been the day after the official end of London Fashion Week 2011. I’d like to think that the wizarding collections got the final runway. ;) Also, I have included VERY rough sketches of a couple of the fashions. Undying thanks to [](http://khasael.livejournal.com/profile)[**khasael**](http://khasael.livejournal.com/) and [](http://deirdre-aithne.livejournal.com/profile)[**deirdre_aithne**](http://deirdre-aithne.livejournal.com/) for the cheerleading, hand-holding, and word wars, and all my thanks and love to [](http://kinky-kneazle.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinky_kneazle**](http://kinky-kneazle.livejournal.com/) for being a fantastic beta and making sure my plots make sense to everyone, not just me.  <3 Any remaining errors or fantastical leaps of logic are entirely my own.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I solemnly swear that I am up to no good; however, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I'm done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.

“Luna, I don’t know about this.”

Hermione eyed the parchment in her hands as though she expected it to bite her. The heavy cream parchment had thick gilt edges and blood-red calligraphy tipped in silver. It was extravagant and ostentatious and, if she were being honest with herself, absolutely beautiful. It was an invitation to the biggest event of the year; it was also an event she was positively dreading.

“It will be such fun, though!” Luna protested. “Blaise’s collection is breathtaking, and his after parties are always fabulous. I’ll make sure you have a wonderful time.”

“I’m not going there to have a ‘wonderful time,’ Luna,” Hermione sighed in exasperation. “I’m writing an expose on the extravagances of pure-blood society.”

“It’s not just pure-bloods, Hermione. Blaise’s designs are worn all over the world.”

“So you keep telling me. But the fact remains, Luna, that the only people who can afford his clothes are pure-blood high society.”

Luna smiled serenely. “I thought journalism was supposed to be unbiased.”

“I –“ Hermione stopped with a rueful smile. “All right. I will go to the showing, and the party, and see first-hand.”

“The after party is a Venetian ball, so be sure to bring a mask!” Luna sang as she hopped down from her perch on the kitchen counter.

After Luna had departed in her usual whirlwind, Hermione went back to staring at the gilded invitation.

“Bugger,” she said, dropping her forehead onto the table.

***

  
_The House of Zabini  
is pleased to announce  
the premiere showing  
of its spring collection  
at six o’clock in the evening  
the twenty-second of September  
Stonehenge  
Wiltshire_   


When Hermione touched the charmed parchment, several more lines of text appeared.

__

Venetian ball to follow  
Malfoy Manor  
Wiltshire

“Bugger,” Hermione said again, pushing herself away from the table with a sigh as she went to find something in her closet that was suitable for a haute couture fashion show and _Venetian ball_.

***

Hermione surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Her suit was stylish, if a few years old; a dark cream Chanel with deconstructed edges. She settled on simple, but elegant, black robes over the ensemble and added sensible black flats.

“No sense being in pain the entire evening,” she said crossly, as her reflection frowned at the choice.

“If you say so, dear,” mirror-Hermione replied, with another disapproving look.

***

Hermione Apparated to the specified coordinates and handed her invitation to a burly security wizard dressed in what appeared to be very fine dress robes. The man raised an eyebrow as he gave her a slow once-over, but finally waved her beyond the barrier.

As Hermione crossed the grassy field and headed for the monolithic stones, she marvelled at the charms in place around the monument. The only things she could see and hear were the stone circle and the murmur of Muggle traffic from the nearby road. Yet as she crossed the wards, the air around her seemed to explode with noise and excitement.

Music pulsed with a driving bass and drumbeat. Uniformed waiters circulated amongst the small crowd with flutes of champagne, and Hermione snagged one as she made her way to a seat. The witches around her were dressed in impossibly high heels and intricate garments; even the wizards wore elaborate robes and richly appointed jewellery.

Clucking her tongue quietly, Hermione wished for her Dict-o-Quill as she rummaged for a notebook and pen. Keeping her bag open in her lap, she frantically scribbled a few notes without lifting the notebook out of the bag.

 _Excess everywhere. Enough jewels to feed third-world nations. Embarrassment of riches,_ she scrawled hastily.

Looking around, Hermione found that she recognised many of the attendees from the interminable Ministry functions she was forced to attend. ‘Hermione Granger, War Heroine’ was still required to make appearances at far too many balls and fundraisers. Ron still basked in the attention, pulling a different starry-eyed witch at every event, while Harry had recently put his foot down and refused to, in his words, be part of the ‘Ministry petting zoo’ any longer. Hermione wondered idly how long she could wait before she followed his example.

Opening her bag again, she made a few more frantic notes as the lights began to dim. _Ridiculous, ostentatious displays. Champagne flowing like water. Desecration of a national historic magical site._

The music changed as the lights were fully extinguished, becoming far more moody – a dark, brooding instrumental that reminded Hermione, somehow, of an approaching storm, though she could still make out a faint, pulsing beat. A banner unfurled between the two largest lintels, proudly emblazoned with _The House of Zabini_ and its signature, a stylized capital zed. The shadow of a woman was projected onto the banner from behind. The figure walked straight through the banner - _had that seam been there all along?_ Hermione wondered – and was revealed to be Luna, head held high, dressed in an elaborate design that seemed to be part gown, part robes – a shimmery material in deep sapphire blue, with a hem that trailed on the floor and was cinched into a corset of the same material. The skirt’s panels billowed around her as she moved, revealing knee-high, high-heeled black dragon-hide boots. From the elbow, the sleeves seemed to split apart into streamers that trailed behind her, and the cowl-like fabric around her shoulder blades rose up into a hood that framed her face.

Hermione paused mid-scribble to simply stare at her friend. Luna normally seemed almost to float, rather than walk, but now she strode purposefully, her heels clicking to the beat of the music. The expression on her face was a dream-like as ever, with a small smile curving up the corners of her mouth as she walked the runway. Hermione could hear murmuring all around her.

_…just beautiful…_

_…Fey, don’t you think?..._

_…Zabini is mad for her, she opens all his shows…_

_…think it’s a glamour…_

_…definitely has Faerie blood in her, you can tell…_

_…Veela…_

Hermione wrote quick, frantic notes as the rest of the models stomped past her, wizards in elaborately styled suits and hats in jewelled-tone velvet, witches in gossamer gowns with headpieces or hoods.

She glanced up at the wizard who had just taken the runway, and her heart nearly stopped.

 _Draco_ bloody _Malfoy,_ she thought in disbelief. The white-blond hair was unmistakeable, cut long and artfully mussed. When he turned towards her, Hermione blinked at the sight of Malfoy wearing _cosmetics_ \- his eyes were rimmed with kohl and his lips stained a shade darker than Luna’s. He wore an elaborate black velvet frockcoat that reminded Hermione of Snape’s long, buttoned robes. He, too, wore dragon-hide boots, and trousers which clung to his thighs like a second skin. He prowled down the runway as though he were born to it, looking supremely unconcerned at the flashbulbs and whispers. When he had posed at the end of the long catwalk and turned, however, his eyes fell on her. Hermione saw the flash of shocked recognition before indifference masked his features once again. As he strode past her, Hermione forced herself to look away and close her mouth, telling herself that her unusual reaction to Malfoy was simply the result of her surprise. Nothing more.

Luna reappeared in the final look, a crimson flowing affair with a train nearly half the length of the runway. Then Blaise himself, flanked by Luna and Draco, walked the runway one more time to thunderous applause before disappearing behind the banner.

As the lights came back up, the audience began to gather their things. Fully three-quarters of the guests made their way towards the banner, but were turned away by security.

“If you have an invitation to the after party, you know where to go,” the security team repeated.

Hermione kept her seat for a moment to review her notes, jotting down impressions whilst they were still fresh in her mind. After several moments, when only would-be hangers-on were left prowling the area, hoping to glom onto someone with an invitation to the after party, Hermione stood, taking one last glance over what she’d just written.

_The clothes, with the exception of tailoring and colouring charms, would be at home in the Muggle fashion world as well; the collection leaves the impression of some romantic bygone era, with brooding, gothic heroes striding windswept moors…_

_Romantic bygone era_? Hermione thought to herself. _I am losing my mind._

She gave herself a mental shake, and Apparated.

***

Arriving at the gates outside Malfoy Manor, Hermione pulled the cream-coloured mask from her bag and placed it over the top portion of her face with a light sticking charm. The gates swung open at her approach, and Japanese lanterns hovered over a path that led around the house.

Hermione followed the path around the side of the stone edifice and into the gardens, where tents were laid out along a centre path. More waiters circulated with trays of canapés and champagne, and everywhere Hermione looked, there were masked witches and wizards in elaborate costumes.

“Lost, Granger?” A masculine voice purred in her ear. Hermione jumped, spinning around with indecent haste. Even with a raven-feather mask obscuring most of his face, Draco’s hair made him unmistakeable.

“Malfoy!” On the runway, Malfoy had been gorgeous. Up close, he was, quite simply, stunning.

“Your powers of observation appear to have gone a bit lax, Granger. Comes from spending too much time with your lackwit friends, I expect. Also,” he said with a smirk, “you’re staring.”

Hermione shook herself. _Get a grip, Granger!_ she thought in exasperation. “I don’t know what you mean,” she retorted. “You startled me, that’s all.”

“Ahh, of course. How unforgivably rude of me, to greet a guest at my own party.” Draco’s smirk widened, though his tone was not _quite_ as caustic as it might once have been.

“I thought this was Blaise’s party. Why are you hosting it?” Hermione asked.

“I’m hosting it because I’m a partner in Blaise’s little hobby,” Draco returned. “And because Blaise insisted on showing his collection at Stonehenge, which is… conveniently located quite close by.”

“Oh,” was Hermione’s altogether inadequate reply.

Draco took the opportunity to rake his eyes over her figure. “So I will ask you again, Granger… Are. You. Lost?” He took a step closer to her, his dark suit – the same one he had worn on the runway – reminding her of a panther’s coat as it caught the lantern light.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that with _that_ outfit, you clearly don’t care two Sickles for fashion, so _what_ are you doing here?” He took slow steps towards her as he spoke, rather like an animal stalking prey.

“Luna invited me,” Hermione murmured, backing away from him until her legs bumped against a stone balustrade bordering the terrace of the Manor. Pinned, she allowed her gaze to sweep the crowd in desperation.

“Ahh,” Draco smiled. “Of course she did.”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow at the question, but did not respond. Instead, he sneered. “How’d you like your first fashion party?”

“It’s all right, I suppose,” Hermione replied, wishing desperately that her mind would grasp onto some witty repartee so that she wouldn’t be standing here, gaping like a first-year.

“All right, you suppose” Draco repeated flatly. “Do you have any idea how many people would give their wands for an invitation to one of our parties?”

“Many, I’m sure.” Hermione managed a bored tone, feeling inordinately proud of herself for the accomplishment.

“Too many to count, actually,” Draco suddenly sounded suspicious. “So why _are_ you here, Granger?”

“I told you, Luna invited me.”

“You expect me to believe that’s the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

“I don’t know,” Draco mused. Something flashed across his face, and he leaned in closely, bringing his lips to Hermione’s ear. “I caught you staring at me.”

“What? When?”

“On the runway.” Draco traced one finger down her arm. “Like what you see?”

“I – no! I mean, I was looking at the clothes, Malfoy. Don’t flatter yourself.” Hermione drew herself up, straightening her shoulders.

Draco threw back his head and laughed. “At the clothes?” He shook his head. “You go ahead and think that, if it makes you feel better, Granger.”

Hermione pushed him backwards and stepped around him, ducking her head to hide the flush in her cheeks. Draco laid his hand on her arm to stop her.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “Remind me what you do, Granger?”

“What I do?”

“As a profession. You’re … a writer, aren’t you?”

“A journalist, actually.”

“A journalist,” Draco repeated, his easy grin sliding off his face as his expression shuttered. “An… investigative journalist.”

“Well, yes.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Working now?”

“I – no. No, I’m not.”

There was a long pause as Draco stared at her appraisingly and Hermione tries to look guileless.

“You’re a poor liar, Granger.” Draco finally said. “Whatever story you think you’ve got, drop it.”

“Malfoy, I-”

“Spare me,” he said, holding up his hand. “The press is always badgering me, and my family, and it needs to stop. My father is dead. My mother and I have paid our debts to society. Whatever dirt you’re after,” he paused to take an angry breath, “it doesn’t exist.”

“I would never-”

“Frankly, Granger, I would have expected better of you.” He pointed at one of the smaller tents. “You’ll find Lovegood over there.” With that, he turned and moved away from her through the crowd.

Hermione stared after him in dismay, wondering exactly what had just happened and feeling inexplicably guilty. Hermione gave a start and groaned inwardly. _Why do you care what Malfoy thinks of you?_ she chastised herself. Shaking her head, she went to find Luna.

***

“Hermione!” Luna enthused as she caught sight of the brunette witch. Hermione fought her way through the throng surrounding Luna and Blaise, who were seated like royalty on a sofa on a stepped platform. Blaise’s dark complexion was set off by the suit he wore, similar in cut to Draco’s, but done in a rich chartreuse shading. Luna had changed back into the sapphire blue creation she had worn to open the runway show, and both wore full-face masks made with peacock feathers. Hermione nervously smoothed her robes as she made her way towards the pair.

Luna scooted to the edge of the sofa as Hermione approached. Blaise lifted one elegant eyebrow, but patted the sofa beside him.

“Come on, love, I don’t bite. Hard,” Blaise teased with a sultry smile.

Hermione sat with a nervous glance at Luna. As she did, Blaise leaned over her to whisper at Luna.

“Have you seen Astoria?” Blaise indicated the entrance to the tent with a wave of his hand. Hermione looked over to see a pretty, frail-looking blonde woman in a crimson strapless gown with a jewelled half-mask. “She’s on the pull again. She thinks she’s going to attract Draco’s attention in last season’s Oscar de la Renta.”

“Blaise, don’t be mean,” Luna said softly. “I think she looks lovely.”

Blaise sat back with a mock pout.

“Why do you care if she’s with Draco?” Hermione asked in confusion.

Luna giggled and leaned over Hermione to put her hand on Blaise’s knee. “Because he’s hopelessly in love with the man himself, of course.”

Hermione blinked. “But I thought you-“

“Oh, yes, sometimes,” Luna said mildly. “But Blaise doesn’t love me the way he loves our Draco.”

“ _Our_ Draco?” Hermione choked. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with him too?”

“Of course not,” Luna murmured. “You are.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione sputtered. “I most certainly am _not_ in love with the snarky git.”

Luna simply smiled serenely.

“Luna, please,” Hermione said with a groan. “Whatever you’re thinking, _stop_.”

“Hermione, I saw the two of you talking earlier, up near the house.”

Hermione stared at her friend. “Luna, it was a conversation – actually, it was an _argument_. It means nothing.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Blaise murmured.

“She certainly does,” Luna agreed with a teasing smile.

“Oh, who asked you?” Hermione snapped half-heartedly. “Don’t you two have someone _else_ to torture?”

“Listen, love,” Blaise said seriously. “If you’re serious about our Draco, then you should know that what you’re doing _isn’t_ going to work.”

“I’m _not_ serious about Dra- wait, what won’t work?” Hermione looked from Blaise to Luna in confusion.

“This,” Blaise indicated Hermione’s entire body with a wave of his hand. “You’re far too business-like for his tastes. He prefers soft curves.” He ran his hand over his own hip.

“Is that so?” Hermione asked faintly.

“Yes, that is so.” Blaise leaned in to purr in her ear, “I can help you there.”

“Help me?”

“Let me give you a makeover.”

“Let you –what?”

“Oh! Hermione, that sounds like fun, don’t you think?” Luna asked softly. “Nothing too drastic, of course.”

“Of course,” Blaise assured them quickly.

Hermione thought about that. She’d never been particularly fashionable, or even all that ‘girly,’ but she remembered the way people’s eyes had watched her, at the Yule Ball in fourth-year, and at a handful of Ministry balls since then, when the Patil twins had volunteered to help her get ready. It might be nice to experience what it would be like to be fashionable and professionally coiffed and made up and dressed. To be beautiful.

“All right, then,” she blurted out.

Blaise looked as though Christmas had come early, he was so excited. He bounced out of his seat and offered her his hand. “Come on, what are we waiting for?”

As Blaise dragged her – a little too gleefully - towards the house, with Luna in tow, Hermione tamped down on the butterflies in her stomach and hoped she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.

***

More than an hour later found Hermione standing on a chair, Blaise circling her like a vulture. Luna had taken nearly thirty minutes to charm her hair to lie in beautifully formed ringlets, rather than the frizzy curls she normally sported. Blaise had darkened her makeup, rimming her eyes in dark brown and applying tiny, faceted crystals to the corners of her eyes.

“Swarovski,” Blaise had murmured when she’d picked one up in her fingertips, watching the light play across the faceting.

Once her hair and makeup was done, Luna had wandered away, and Hermione was left alone with Blaise. “Clothes next,” he announced gleefully.

Hermione was laced tightly into a crimson corset.

“How does that feel?” Blaise asked as he fixed something on the underskirt.

“Am I supposed to be able to breathe?” Hermione teased.

“Not really, no.”

“Well, then, it’s fine.” Hermione said ruefully.

“Your hair needs to be up for this look to be right.” Blaise was looking at her with a critical eye.

“Up? But Luna just spent so much time charming the curls!”

“Looking good is a full time job,” Blaise told her, as he pushed her down into a seat and began doing something elaborate to the hair at the back of her head.

“Blaise, are you in here?” Draco’s voice sounded from just outside the door.

“I am, mi amore,” Blaise called.

“Don’t call me that; people will think we-” Draco stopped short, his hand on the doorknob, as he stared at Blaise and Hermione. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Turning our ugly duckling into a swan,” Blaise replied, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Hermione bristled. “That’s a bit _much_ , don’t you think?”

Draco frowned as he ran his eyes over Hermione’s figure, ignoring her comment as he turned to Blaise. “Awful lot of work.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione couldn’t quite believe she’d heard him correctly.

“Beauty always is, mi amore.”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” Draco repeated wearily, his eyes still on Hermione’s figure. “Are you sure the return will be worth the effort?”

“Enough,” Hermione snapped as she jumped to her feet. “I am not going to sit here and listen to this.” She glared at both of them in turn. Blaise had the good grace to look discomfited, while Draco just looked bored.

“Granger, you’re making a fool out of yourself,” Draco drawled.

Hermione brought herself up short. “How _dare_ you?”

“How dare _I_? You’re in my house, playing dress up like a toddler in her mother’s closet. And you?” Draco turned to Blaise. “What have I told you about lost causes, Blaise?”

“You –” Hermione’s voice cracked. She could feel moisture welling in her eyes, but she forced her chin up and squared her shoulders. “No one would know more about lost causes than _you_ , Malfoy,” she hissed.

She caught one glimpse of the startled looks on both Blaise and Draco’s faces before she turned on her heel and ran blindly from the room.

***

Luna found her some time later, sitting on a bench before a small reflecting pool, watching the light from the moon and the floating lanterns skip patterns across the surface of the water.

“Hullo, Hermione,” she said softly, slipping onto the bench beside her.

“Oh, Luna, just leave me alone, please,” Hermione whispered.

“I could do that if you really want me to, of course,” Luna replied. “But I don’t think you really _want_ to be alone right now.”

Hermione wiped furtively at her eyes. “I just need a few moments to gather my thoughts.”

“Draco and Blaise told me what happened. They feel quite badly about it.”

“They _should_ ,” Hermione whispered.

“He didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Luna began. Hermione shook her head.

“You weren’t there, Luna.”

“No, but I’ve gotten to know them both pretty well, Hermione. They’re not the foolish boys they once were.”

Hermione looked unconvinced.

“What was tonight _really_ about? What upset you so badly?”

Hermione sighed. “I just… I wanted to be Cinderella for the night, I suppose.” At Luna’s look of confusion, she continued, “I thought it was a chance to be all the things I’ve always _wanted_ to be – beautiful and fashionable and desirable and sexy. I know that I’m not, but I thought I could pretend for the night.”

“Hermione, I don’t understand you. You _are_ beautiful,” Luna said, scooting closer and wrapping her arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Just as you are, every day, Hermione Granger. You. Are. Beautiful.”

Hermione looked at Luna through her lashes. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do. I think you’re all those things,” Luna paused. “Well, except perhaps fashionable.” She smiled to show Hermione she was only teasing.

Hermione chuckled. “There is that.”

“But Hermione,” Luna continued, “you are far more beautiful as yourself – as the _real_ Hermione – not as a pretend Cindrella.”

“Cinderella,” Hermione corrected.

“Whoever that is,” Luna agreed amiably.

“She was a –” Hermione paused. “Nevermind. I’ll get you the book.”

“All right.”

“Did you really mean that, though?”

“Of course I did. What’s inside makes you beautiful, not what’s outside. You look lovely in the clothes, of course, but I still prefer the real Hermione.”

Hermione thought about that for a long moment. “You know what, Luna? So do I.” She pulled out her wand and, with a brisk flick, had transfigured the couture gown into a simple shift dress.

Luna pulled out her own wand and performed a couple of tailoring charms, cinching the shift into an empire waist. “We can work on the fashionable part,” she teased.

“Thanks, Luna,” Hermione said with a soft smile.

Luna hugged her tightly. “What are friends for?”

“For exactly this,” a masculine voice said from behind them. Hermione turned to see Draco standing at the edge of the clearing.

“And for disappearing, when it’s warranted,” Luna said mildly. “I’ll see you two later.” With that, she disappeared around the corner of the path.

Hermione tucked her wand back into its sheath, before she was tempted to use it.

“I should go, too,” she said quietly, moving towards the path Luna had taken.

Draco caught her wrist gently. “Please wait.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Hermione asked wearily.

“I wanted to apologise.”

“What?” Hermione looked up into Draco’s eyes.

“What I said was unforgivably rude,” Draco’s voice was low and troubled. “I was actually having a go at Blaise, not at you, but I didn’t pause to consider how it would sound.”

“No, you didn’t,” Hermione whispered.

“It really was supposed to take the piss out of Blaise, always trying to make people over when it is wholly unnecessary,” Draco murmured. He looked her over with a wry smile. “What you’ve done since then is a definite improvement.”

“Do you think so?” Hermione asked, not a little bewildered by this strange new Draco.

“I do,” Draco repeated, sitting down on the bench and tugging her hand until Hermione sat down beside him. “You look like yourself, now.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I – er – thank you.”

“About earlier, too; I was surprised to see you and I reacted like I was still a bratty first-year. Then you admitted to being a reporter-”

“Journalist,” Hermione interrupted.

“Journalist,” Draco conceded. “I went on the offensive. I apologise.”

Hermione acknowledged his words with a small nod, her thoughts whirling.

“Well,” Draco said awkwardly. “I should return to the party. I would appreciate our misunderstanding being ‘off the record,’ but if you wish, you can contact my solicitor for an appointment to do a formal interview.” He stood and gave her a stiff bow. “Good evening, Granger.”

Hermione stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Malfoy, wait,” she said, as he turned to leave.

Draco turned back to her with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not after a story about you, or your family.”

“No?”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “I’m writing about the excesses of pure-blood high society.”

Draco stared at her incredulously.

“Just look at this evening,” Hermione continued, her voice low and urgent. “Look at the amount of Galleons spent on the clothes and jewels and for _what_?”

A smile quirked the corners of Draco’s mouth. “Always campaigning for a cause,” he murmured.

“I fail to see what’s funny about this situation,” Hermione said crossly.

“For once, Granger, I think your research has failed you.” Draco laughed as Hermione stared up at him in consternation. “You are aware, I suppose, that Malfoy Enterprises – and I, personally – top the list of philanthropic giving?” At Hermione’s nod, he continued, “In my father’s time, that was as much about political manoeuvring as philanthropy. I, however, have redirected most of the donations.”

“Why?”

“Making amends,” Draco said softly. “Trying to, at least.”

“Malfoy-“ Hermione reached out for him, and Draco seemed to give himself a mental shake.

“So you came here tonight planning to expose all our extravagances,” he continued with a wry smile. “Are you aware that the House of Zabini is a not-for-profit company?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Blaise and I write off the cost of production. 100% of what the clothes sell for goes to charity.”

“I – oh,” Hermione faltered. “My research turned up nothing about that.”

“It’s because people don’t _know_ , Granger. We’re not doing it for the attention.”

Hermione met Draco’s gaze. “I – I understand.”

Hope flared in his eyes. “Will you keep this – our little secret?”

“It doesn’t exactly fit my story, does it?”

“Thank you,” Draco replied, sitting back down beside Hermione on the bench. “I must admit, Granger, you’re the last person I ever expected to see at one of our runway shows.”

“Well, then, we’re even; _you’re_ the last person I ever expected to see on a catwalk,” she responded, allowing a small smile to curve her lips.

Draco smiled back. “Touché.”

“How did you get started modelling?”

“I don’t model; one turn on the catwalk hardly-”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupted. “That was your _first_ runway show?”

“One of the models never showed. It was me or Blaise. I look better in the suit.”

Hermione laughed. “I see.”

After a moment, he said, “I really _am_ sorry for what I said.”

“It was …not the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” she admitted after a moment, with a rueful smile.

“That is not exactly a point in my favour, now is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“Maybe we could start again?”

Hermione flashed him a genuine smile. “I’d like that.”

“So, how’d you like your first fashion party?” Draco asked.

Hermione laughed. “Not so fast. One apology hardly covers everything that’s gone between us. I’m still feeling maligned.”

Draco smiled down at her. “You must allow me to make amends, then.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A wild snogging session in the stables?” Draco waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione laughed again. “I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. “But I _might_ allow you to buy me a drink.”

Draco stood, offering her a jaunty elbow. "Well, since this _is_ my party, I think we just might be able to arrange that, Granger."

Arm in arm, they headed towards their new beginning.

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/uniquepov/pic/00023zw6/)  
>  Luna's opening look
> 
> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/uniquepov/pic/00024xft/)  
>  Blaise


End file.
